“Yes. Never would I have expected…” Dolok turned haunted eyes toward her. His short hair stuck up in all directions, as if he’d pushed his hands through it often that day. Hollows under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept much. “If I’d known you had… that kind of mettle… I would have— Ishouldhave supported you from the beginning. If we hadn’t opposed you, maybe a shielder would have been restored to Harvest Island before the dragons had a chance to dothat.”
Syla resisted the urge to say,I told you so. She was relieved, if not outright delighted, that Dolok seemed to be acknowledging the error of his ways. Unless this was an act meant to catch her off-guard. Even if he was genuine now, she reminded herself that he had committed crimes. Had he been the one to send orders to collect moon-marked people? She didn’t know yet if those people were alive and safe somewhere, or… the opposite.
“Who sent the assassins after me?” Syla asked quietly.
Dolok shrugged and looked toward the volcano again. “Whoever gave those orders was probably pressured from the aristocracy, from those who sought to replace you with themselves. That person might have been told that if he chose the wrong side, his legacy—even his family—would be destroyed, that history would remember him as a traitor, as someone afraid to stand up to tradition and back someone with the power to end the war. But that person probably didn’t know that those who claimed to be better choices would be so distracted by their desire to consolidate power that they would leave the Kingdom to suffer.”
“There are more aristocrats than Fograth, right? Is Relvin involved? Where’s their headquarters? Apparently, that’s a mystery.”
His gaze still toward the distant island, Dolok didn’t acknowledge her questions. He looked numb, almost in shock. As a healer, she’d seen it before. Not sure what he’d endured these past weeks, she was tempted to be sympathetic, but she needed answers and the time to make a plan to deal with the storm god. However that might be done.
“Who sent the assassins after me?” she repeated.
“There were no good choices,” Dolok said. “That’s probably what the person felt. And with threats delivered, he may have caved to the pressure, to their demands. He may have let his colonel write the orders they wished.”
“Colonel Mosworth?” Syla guessed, longing for straight answers.
Finally, Dolok looked at her, but it was to ask another question instead of answering hers. “Could you ever forgive the one who sent the assassins?”
“Sergeant Fel would say I shouldn’t, but I probably could. We’re going to need every capable soldier and officer to deal with that.” Syla pointed toward the south. “Don’t you think?”
“I wonder. I always thought you a gentle soul, that you had no place making the hard decisions that a ruler must when leading a nation. But the reports… the rumors…” Dolok glanced over the railing. Below, Oyenar had walked out of the lighthouse, but he merely leaned against the wall, waiting for them to finish. “From what I’ve heard, you’re more ruthless than I would have guessed.”
Remembering Teyla’s suggestion that people thought she’d ordered the death of Ravoran, Syla winced. Shewasn’truthless, and she didn’t want people to believe that of her.
“Oyenar says you came up with the plan to flood the mine and kill the stormers,” Dolok said.
Syla shook her head, but he wasn’t looking at her.
“That’s not quite how it happened,” she said.
“They say General Jhiton died in that mine.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” Syla trusted that Vorik hadn’t been imagining things when he’d seen his brother fly above the island on his dragon.
But Dolok didn’t seem to be hearing her. He walked across the platform to look through the telescope again.
“They say you’re favored by the gods,” he murmured. “You must pray for us.”
“I will.” Syla glanced at Wreylith, half-wondering if the dragon had put that thought into his head. Maybe it was growing evident to everyone that they were going to need divine intervention. “But I need to take full control of the Kingdom again. We can’t be divided, not now. Where are Fograth and the others, Dolok?”
“I don’t know.”
She gripped his arm. “Truly? You must.”
“Last week, they were in and out of the castle, but these past few days, orders have been appearing on the desk in the royal suite. People have looked all over but not found Fograth or the other aristocrats in any of the rooms.”
“Nobody’s seen them going in and out through the gates? That’s the only way into the courtyard and the castle. There must be guards on duty there, right?”
“There are, yes. Nobody has seen Fograth. Pray for us, Your Majesty.” Dolok pointed to the south. Were the clouds creeping closer? Stretching across the Sea of Storms toward Castle Island?
“General, I’m going to need your support. Give new orders to the troops. Tell them you made a mistake, that I’m in charge, and I need their help. We’reallgoing to need their help.”
“Pray for us, Syla,” Dolok whispered, not taking his eyes from the telescope.
Frustrated, she released his arm and stepped back. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. Maybe he wasn’t in shock as much as affected by a malaise brought on by the knowledge that he’d made mistakes and that they might have played a role in allowing the storm god to return to the world. She didn’t know but would hope that once he got some rest, he would come to his senses.
“I will,” Syla said again, then asked Wreylith to take her and Oyenar to the castle.
